


Eggnog

by faequeentitania



Series: 25 Days of Fic 2012 [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 25 Days of Fic 2012, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Declarations Of Love, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Eggnog, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faequeentitania/pseuds/faequeentitania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam don’t drink together very often, usually because when they're more than a little drunk, things start to happen. Big things. Life-changing things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eggnog

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be some holiday fun! WHEN DID IT GET ANGSTY INSIDE MY BRAIN?! Guh. I’m still behind, but hopefully now that finals are over, I can play catch up. I also need to stop writing 3,000 word pieces, that would help.

Dean made a mental note to never call Sam a lightweight ever again.  
  
He was only on his third glass and already well on his way to hammered this stuff is spiked so hard.  
  
Sam was keeping pace, too, which didn't usually happen. Sam was always the one who paced himself, who drank water between every couple, but not tonight.  
  
"Might want to slow down there, brother," Dean smirked, as some cheesy Christmas commercial played in the background; the TV left on some movie or another, though neither of them were paying it any attention, now, "'Cause I'm not holding those luscious locks back when you're heaving it up later."  
  
"M'fine, Dean," Sam snorted, and Dean shrugged, tilting his glass back to swallow the last rum-saturated mouthful smoothly.  
  
"Your hangover, man. Hit me," Dean tapped the bottom of his glass lightly on the table, and Sam grabbed the bottle of rum and twisted off the cap.  
  
"Might want to slow down yourself, Dean," Sam said in return, even as he poured a hefty amount into the bottom of the glass before upending the carton of eggnog to follow. There was a second one keeping cold in the mini-fridge, Dean knew, so he wasn't overly concerned about running out.  
  
"Please, I'm a professional," Dean grinned, plucking the mixing straw up off the table and twirling it around in the glass quickly.  
  
Sam chortled at that, swirling his glass and taking another couple swallows.  
  
“Professional alcoholic. Yeah, ‘cause that’s healthy.”  
  
“Yeah, well, monster’s bound to get me before the liver failure, so I’m not too fussed about it.”  
  
Dean raised his glass and took several large gulps before setting it back down hard, making a face and giving his head a little shake at the warm burn of alcohol sliding down his throat. He gave a low whistle before looking back up at Sam, a little unnerved to find his brother giving him a serious look.  
  
Dean raised his eyebrows at him, before prompting him with a gruff, “What?”  
  
“Nothing,” Sam mumbled, returning his eyes to his glass, swirling it again before downing the last fourth of it in two swallows, then fixing himself another.  
  
“Dude, come on, what?” Dean egged him, taking another drink himself, and ok, he was definitely leaning toward tipsy now.  
  
“It’s just-” Sam said haltingly, clenching his jaw and staring intently into his glass before continuing on with a bitter laugh, “That’s our life, isn’t it? Just running hard and long until there’s some fanged freak that’s faster than us and snuffs us out. Just a fucking countdown clock until we die choking on our own blood, or worse.”  
  
“Well, you’re a bucket of good cheer,” Dean grimaced, draining his glass and tapping it down. Sam refilled it without being asked, a heavy dose of booze before dumping the rest of the eggnog in and leaning over, a little unsteadily, to the mini-fridge to fish out the second one.  
  
“It’s the truth, though,” Sam mused darkly, topping off his own glass with more rum and eggnog, “No matter how the story plays out, we end up as an anonymous pile of ash and an unmarked grave.”  
  
Dean was suddenly reminded of why he didn’t usually drink with Sam, the man was a damn morose drunk.  
  
“Yeah, well, that’s why we make it count now,” Dean reminded him, taking a long swallow.  
  
“Make it count, right. Saving people, hunting things, is that it?” Sam drawled, and the beginnings of anger began to coil in Dean’s gut.  
  
“Yeah, that is it. I don’t know why you’ve never been able to see that, Sam, but what we do is important. We keep all that crap lurking in the dark from killing innocent people.”  
  
“And what’s left for us, Dean?” Sam said frustratedly, “All the crap we’ve been through, all the stuff we’ve given up, or had taken away? I mean _look_  at us, man! It’s Christmas and what’re we doing? Getting hammered in some crappy motel room in Bumfuck, Nowhere on cheap eggnog and rum? Other people have _homes_ , and _families_. Other people are sharing Christmas dinner, giving out presents, watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_  and for them it’s actually true. I tried so hard to have that life, Dean, but what the hell do I have now?”  
  
“Me,” Dean said quietly, hurt and guilt sidling up to the ball of anger burning in his chest and he looked away from Sam, taking a long drag from his glass; whether to douse or fuel that ball, he wasn’t sure.  
  
When it was drained, he lowered it slowly, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth before reaching for the rum bottle, pouring a healthy dose into the glass by itself. The remnants of the eggnog gave the alcohol a cloudy color that he ignored in favor of gulping it down.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said quietly after a moment, and Dean’s eyes were pulled to Sam’s face, where his brother was looking at him in a soft way that he didn’t want to examine too closely.  
  
Then Sam gave a small, bitter laugh, reaching for the rum and copying Dean, pouring it into his glass and leaving the eggnog untouched on the table, “Yeah. I do, don’t I? Have you. Not exactly fair though, is it?”  
  
“What?” Dean couldn’t stop himself from asking, sure that whatever the answer was, he wasn’t going to like it.  
  
“I have you. What do you have, Dean?” Sam looked at him pityingly, going on before Dean could answer, “Me? An ex-demon blood junkie who always lets you down? Who ran when you were depending on me and a million other failures that just keep piling up? Jesus, Dean, you deserve so much better.”  
  
Sam knocked the alcohol back, and Dean didn’t want to think about whether Sam’s eyes were beginning to tear up because of the cheap booze or that words he couldn’t seem to stop, “What you’re willing to do for me. What you _have_  done for me. Jesus, Dean, it scares me sometimes. That you could love me that much. I don’t deserve that, I’ve never deserved that.”  
  
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean finally forced out, pouring another drink and knocking it back.  
  
“It’s true. You’re...” Sam trailed off, swallowing hard, “You’re incredible, Dean. The best man I’ve ever known, and there’s no way I’m worthy of that.”  
  
Dean was definitely drunk, because he didn’t remember making the decision to stand on unsteady legs, leaning hard on the table as he slid around to Sam’s side, but suddenly he was and he was taking Sam’s stricken face in his hands.  
  
“You are,” he said seriously, looking into Sam’s watery eyes, “You are, Sam.”  
  
“M’not,” Sam whispered despairingly back, reaching up to grip Dean’s sleeves in a tight grip, “I’m not, Dean.”  
  
And it tore him up, seeing Sam so desperately suffering that it made him forget, made him lose the hard-worked restraint he held down so tightly and the next thing he knew, he was pressing his lips to Sam’s in a hard, distraught kiss that he swore he would never do.  
  
It wasn’t until Sam was kissing him back with a whimper, hands moving to the back of Dean’s head, that reality crept up on him.  
  
He immediately tried to pull back, a stammered apology halfway formed on his lips before Sam reeled him back in, slotting their mouths together firmly.  
  
Dean’s knees nearly buckled when Sam pushed his tongue between Dean’s lips, licking into his mouth so sweetly he couldn’t help the breathy moan that escaped him. Even though they both tasted like eggnog and cheap rum, it didn’t seem to matter because it was the most gorgeous kiss of his life because it was _Sam_.  
  
Sam broke the kiss with a rush of breath, panting in the space between their mouths in rhythm with Dean’s shuddering lungs, still holding tight to the back of Dean’s head to keep him in place.  
  
“God, I’m so in love with you,” Sam suddenly confessed brokenly, then froze, shock and fear pouring from his body so hard it hurt.  
  
Sam was just a hazel-eyed blur in his vision, and Dean had never thought that seven stupid words could make his heart stop in his chest and the sucker-punched feeling smack right into his gut.  
  
“Oh god,” Sam whispered terrifyingly, “Oh god. Dean. I’m sorry, I-”  
  
Dean couldn’t answer, the feeling of his heart jumping back into action like a jerk forward, crashing his lips back to Sam’s in an ungraceful clash of teeth and tongue.  
  
Suddenly he was tipping forward and he jerked, surprised to find that Sam’s hands had moved to his hips and were pulling him in, lowering him to straddle Sam’s thighs and it was so fucking _hot_ , lighting him up like a fuse.  
  
“Sammy,” he whispered desperately against Sam’s mouth, still cradling his brother’s precious face and Sam whimpered, wrapping his arms around him and pulling them tight together.  
  
“Tell me you want this,” Sam whispered back anxiously, trembling under Dean and it was Dean’s turn to whimper, pressing his lips back to Sam’s fervently.  
  
Sam pressed up into it, the most filthy slide of his tongue against Dean’s making him so hard, so fast it left him reeling.  
  
“Dean, please,” he begged, suddenly wedging a hand between their chests and pushing Dean back slightly, looking at his face from the few inches away necessary for his brother’s features to come into focus, “Please, tell me.”  
  
“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean slurred, lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss, “Of course. God, of course. Christ, Sam, you’re everything.”  
  
This time, tears really were threatening to fall from Sam’s eyes and Dean couldn’t bare it, pressed back in for a kiss to distract them away.  
  
“There needs to be less clothes. Right fucking now,” Sam demanded, shoving his hands under Dean’s shirt and beginning to push them over his head.  
  
Dean leaned back, raising his arms up into the air. Sam managed to tug both his overshirt and his t-shirt off in one go but the jerk of them coming off his wrists nearly made him lose his balance, and he smacked one hand back on the table quickly to keep from tipping over.  
  
_I am way too fucking drunk for chair sex_ , Dean thought wildly, heart pounding as he grabbed Sam’s shoulder for balance, his brother already mouthing a hot trail down his neck.  
  
“Bed,” Dean muttered weakly, Sam’s nibbling along his clavicle almost making him incoherent, “Bed, Sam.”  
  
Sam nodded against his chest, hooking his arms under Dean’s ass and standing suddenly.  
  
Dean clung to him for dear life, the sudden change in elevation making him a little dizzy, and Sam too, apparently, because they didn’t move to the bed so much as stagger to it, Sam landing hard and heavy on top of him.  
  
He would have protested, if Sam hadn’t chose that moment to occupy Dean’s mouth with his tongue instead, and Dean settled for sucking on it, grinding his hips up desperately.  
  
Sam’s palms squeezed Dean’s ass, rocking them together, and Dean groaned, rucking up Sam’s shirts to get at his bare skin.  
  
Being that Sam was, apparently, completely unwilling to let go of Dean’s ass for the time it would take to pull them over his head, Dean settled for bunching the shirts up under his brother’s arms instead, tracing the side ribs of Sam’s chest reverently.  
  
“Sam,” he gasped, the hard friction of his zipper bound to be doing more harm than good, “ _Jesus_ , get your hands on me, already.”  
  
Sam groaned at that, licking a hot stripe up his neck that made him throb, “Yeah. Yeah.”  
  
Sam’s hands slid out from under him and he pushed up, putting enough space between them to reach one-handedly to pull off his shirts, throwing them to the floor while Dean worked their pants, fastenings flying open as quick as Dean could make it happen.  
  
“God, you’re gorgeous,” Sam panted, openly staring at Dean’s cock, lying flushed and rigid against his stomach as Dean worked on Sam’s pants, finally getting them open and sliding his hand inside.  
  
“Nothing compared to you, god,” he marveled, palming Sam’s length firmly, making Sam’s hips stutter forward into the touch, a gasp slipping past his lips.  
  
“Ngh, Dean,” Sam panted, and Dean watched with absolute rapt attention at the way Sam’s face went slack with lust when he ran the edge of his nail along the thick vein pulsing just under the skin of his cock.  
  
Dean went dizzy again as suddenly Sam dropped down, kissing him hard and getting his hands back under him, rolling them over so Dean was on top, straddling his hips and his hand’s on Sam’s wide shoulders for balance.  
  
“Want to see you,” Sam breathed, palming his ass with one hand as the other guided his hips, lining them up so Sam could take them both in his grip.  
  
“Oh god,” Dean choked, thrusting helplessly into the tight clench of Sam’s fist, making Sam groan. He leaned down, licking and kissing as much of Sam’s chest as he could reach with an almost delirious intensity.  
  
God, it was ridiculous. Their clothes not even completely off, rutting together with hardly enough slide to make it good, the smell of alcohol puffing into the air between them with every ragged breath. But god, was it good, couldn’t be anything else with the rough slide of skin against skin and the sheen of perspiration in the yellow light.  
  
“S-Sammy,” Dean stuttered, hips pumping harder as he felt the beginning of his orgasm building at the base of his spine, staring at his brother’s pleasure-slack face.  
  
“Dean,” Sam panted, twisting his wrist and palming over the head of their cocks, and the electric zing of pleasure rocketing up his spine was so good it made both their eyes roll up, both of them riding the final rough jerks that would send them over.  
  
Dean cried out as he finally came, back bowing, and Sam groaned, following close on his heels with their joined come pooling on his abdomen messily.  
  
Dean collapsed forward, the room spinning from lack of oxygen or the booze- probably both- and Sam took his weight easily, the hand not covered in come rubbing gently up his back.  
  
The only sound in the room was the low buzz of the TV, still on, and their heavy breathing, and for a moment it felt surreal.  
  
Then Sam was rolling them onto their sides, hand still stroking Dean’s back as he leaned in for a kiss, this one gentle and so loving it took Dean’s breath all over again.  
  
“Love you,” he whispered so quietly, he wasn’t sure if Sam had heard him at all.  
  
“Love you,” Sam echoed, which was the last thing he heard before his brain shut off.  
  
* * *  
  
Dean wanted to die. He didn’t even want to put a label on the taste living inside his mouth, or use the brain cells necessary to compare the pounding in his head to anything. And he certainly didn’t want to think about the sound of Sam heaving in the bathroom, just as he predicted, because it was more than enough to send his own stomach into knots.  
  
The damn tv was still on, the sound that had been a pleasant background noise last night was worse than a hive of bees now, which was almost as bad as the light, shining on the nightstand and Dean prayed to find the strength to move from his lethargic sprawl on his stomach soon so he could turn the damn things off.  
  
The sound of the toilet flushing was like a clap of thunder and Dean groaned, pressing his face into the pillow more firmly and wishing once again for a swift death.  
  
By the time Sam stumbled back into the room, Dean was thinking about how far away his gun was, and gave an audible groan of relief when Sam turned off both the tv and the light with a couple colorful curses, stumbling heavily back into bed with a pitiful groan.  
  
“Never again,” he heard his brother moan, “Never getting that drunk again.”  
  
“Famous last words,” Dean managed to rasp out, and Sam gave a breathless laugh of agreeance.  
  
There was quiet for a few moments, the only sound now was his own heartbeat in his head and the quiet sound of Sam’s breathing beside him. Just as Dean was gearing up to force himself into the bathroom to possibly make himself sick, just to get it over with, and to _definitely_  brush his teeth and take some heavy painkillers, Sam laid a gentle hand on his back.  
  
“Still remember last night?” he asked quietly, and Dean opened his eyes, ignoring how even the dim light fighting its way past the thick curtains shot pain through his whole skull.  
  
Sam’s face was soft, tired and sick, as well, but still looking at him with a mix of fondness and sadness, and Dean realized what he was doing. He was giving Dean an out. All Dean had to do was feign ignorance, say it was all a blacked-out blur, and they could forget it ever happened. Sam was trying to give him an opportunity to take it back, and was visibly bracing himself for what he clearly believed was going to be the inevitable outcome.  
  
“Still remember,” Dean said, and it twisted his heart a little to see the relief flood Sam’s eyes.  
  
His brother swallowed, touching him more boldly now, hand running up and down his back gently.  
  
“Good,” Sam answered in a small voice, swallowing hard, and Dean couldn’t help the way his eyes slid closed again, enjoying the touch through all his other symptoms of misery. It was going to be a long, painful day, but he was absolutely sure it was worth it, worth allowing them to take the first, tentative steps toward something new, something amazing, “good.”


End file.
